


The Lovers (Act II)

by QSF



Series: As We Fall [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 21:20:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QSF/pseuds/QSF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not easy being smooth when you're in love with an apostate. Smut and silliness. Set during Act Two of the game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This was stupid. No, scratch that, this was really stupid, possibly verging on the stupidest thing he’d ever done. Possibly. Hawke had to admit he had managed to pull some rather stupid moves so far in his life, but so far he had always managed to come out ahead in the end. But this… this was worse. This was not a fight, not about money or reputation or even friendship. This was about love. Or so he thought. 

Or so he hoped.  
  
He should go back. Darktown was not a place to stand around being indecisive at the best of times, especially not these days. Since returning from the Deep Roads with a small fortune he dressed better, groomed himself better, and had that faint smell of Hightown around him. It was only a matter of time before someone’s need of money overrode their fear of his daggers. Ah well, who was he kidding? He would welcome that fight. A distraction. Then he could go home, clean off the blood, and put this thing off for another day. Except that he’d done it once already and one more time would really mean that he was just as chicken as Fenris had been.  
  
Had living in Hightown made him soft?  
  
Maybe. Or maybe just lonely. When he’d been a refugee squatting in Lowtown, it seemed like a dream come true, a place where you never had to worry about getting shanked in a dark corner or where your next meal was coming from, a place of opulence and plenty where his bath hadn’t been used by at least three others before him. But, now that he was a man of wealth and his mother had regained both her name and her estate, he was finding out that shadows lurked even behind the fanciest curtains. Their house was large and far too empty. His mother had, in one of her usual fits of generosity, invited the dwarven merchant and his adopted son to stay. Bodahn had accepted with a wink, since he had already sworn to repay Hawke for saving his son’s life during their expedition to the Deep Roads. But, their addition to the Hawke household couldn’t disguise the fact that Bethany was gone. Taken.   
  
Hawke was now what amounted to a single child, and by the Maker, he didn’t like that feeling at all.  
  
Even now, standing here, trying to work up the nerve to turn the corner and walk down the stairs to what felt like certain doom and heartbreak, he felt like kicking something. Luckily, Darktown lacked for many things, but objects to kick was not one of them. He sent a rock flying into the dark shadows of a corner, hearing rats skitter as it fell. Bethany. He should never have let that happen. Never. They had managed to keep her hidden for so long.  
  
She was an apostate. A mage. The Templars had come for her at last, and Hawke had to wonder if they had known of her all along and had simply bided their time until he was not around to protect her. Or was that just his ego talking? It had been pure chance that he had arrived back home from the Deep Roads with the good news just as they were getting ready to drag her away to the Gallows. Maker… he had almost gotten them all killed right then and there. It was a hanging offense, hiding apostates. Only some very fast talking from his sister and mother had kept them out of trouble, and he had nearly ruined it all by pulling a blade on the Templars. If Aveline hadn’t been there to hold him back, he had no idea what would have happened. He’d be dead. Possibly. Or a fugitive as sure as any apostate. Instead he was now a noble, living in Hightown. Money wiped away all stains it seemed, the donation to the Chantry had been generous enough to make them see through their fingers at his behavior. He and Isabela had stolen it back the very same night and left it for Lirene in her donation box to help other Fereldan refugees.   
  
A secret just between the two of them.   
  
Isabela. Hawke signed and walked a few steps down the stairs, then retreated again. He wished she was here; she would just have given him a push and told him to either shit or get off the pot. The two of them had gotten close after his sudden windfall of money, even to the point of ending up in bed together. It had been fun, and something that continued to be fun now and then in the back rooms of the Hanged Man, but fun was all it was. Friends with benefits, and when the benefits dried up, Isabela didn’t ask why. He suspected she had known for a lot longer than he had. He was falling in love.  
  
It wasn’t like it was something he had planned for, he was not the flowers and romance type, and pining after someone just sounded painful, like an itch you couldn’t scratch. Love was something romantic poets made up to make sex sound pretty, like putting on makeup to disguise what lay beneath. Flirting was something you did for fun, to see if you could talk someone into bedding you. Sometimes you succeeded, like with Isabela, and sometimes you struck out, like with Fenris. But it was different with Anders.  
  
Anders. Such an infuriatingly secretive, passionate, funny, bitter man. Hawke couldn’t work him out, one moment he was all sweetness and jokes, the next he was all frustration and scowls. His moods changed faster than Fereldan spring weather.  
  
The renegade healer still tended his clinic, that much at least hadn’t changed in the last three years. It was still not much more than a hole in the wall, but he was a lot better stocked thanks to secret donations from Hawke, and, he suspected, Varric. So far he’d stayed ahead of the Templar hunters. Hawke wasn’t sure whether it was because of Varric’s timely warnings, the dubious loyalty of his fellow Darktown refugees, or simply because the Chantry didn’t want to put to the test what authority they really had over a lapsed Grey Warden mage. He supposed it didn’t matter, as long as Anders stayed one step ahead. He wouldn’t lose another one to the Gallows, and if Bethany hadn’t assured him that it wasn’t too bad there, and that she liked teaching children, he’d have broken her out already. Somehow. There were ways in, he knew that now.   
  
Even if he hated how he had come by that knowledge.  
  
It turned out that Anders was a lot more than just a healer; he was also quite heavily involved in the mage underground, smuggling mages and their kin out of Kirkwall. The healer had never told him openly, it was just one of those things that went unspoken between them, like so many others. Anders asked Hawke for help with certain matters, and the rogue was only too willing to assist. So he hadn’t thought twice about agreeing to help his friend find evidence that the Templars weren’t just sadistic bastards, but sadistic bastards that were out for mage genocide. Even if it meant infiltrating the hidden tunnels underneath the Gallows. Of course it went badly, they had confronted a group of Templars threatening a young mage, and Anders had lost it. Completely lost it. Hawke hadn’t seen the mage possessed since that first time in the Chantry, when Karl had been killed, but even then there had been some manner of control. This time…  
  
Maker. Hawke shook his head as he finally made up his mind and stomped down the stairs into the depths. He had never seen Anders like that before. Or Justice he supposed. Not only had the mage torn through the Templars like their armor had been paper and not tempered steel, he had done it with a viciousness that would have made Fenris proud. And then, once everything had stopped twitching, he had turned on the mage girl. And for what? For being afraid of him? For fearing the abomination? For being influenced by the Templars? Hawke had been so shocked it had taken him a moment to react, and by that time it had almost been too late. But not quite. His words had managed to reach the mage inside the abomination, and the blue glow of possession had faded, leaving Anders to collapse into a shocked pile. He couldn’t blame the mage for fleeing the scene.  
  
He really couldn’t.  
  
They’d talked afterwards. Or rather, he had managed to talk the mage down from fleeing Kirkwall. He’d never seen the man that shocked before, but he recognized the look in his eyes. Hawke knew he had it himself the first time he killed a man. Blood on his hands. Human blood. That last horrible gurgling breath. Men were different than darkspawn or beasts. Athenril had spent that evening with him at the Hanged Man, trying to talk her best smuggler out of quitting the business for good. He’d gotten used to it eventually, both the blood and the fact that sometimes people ended up dead at his hands. He’d gotten used to it, but he prayed that Anders never would. The mage had been right in warning him to stay away. He had no idea what Anders truly was, but whatever it was, it was dangerous. Sometimes even to friends. He knew this should have made him back off, but instead… it drew him closer.  
  
Moth to a flame he supposed. Maker he really was an idiot, but he’d been one all his life so why stop now?   
  
Maybe because this was the point of no return, standing outside Anders’ clinic, staring at the closed door. The lamp wasn’t lit, so maybe the mage wasn’t home, or maybe he just didn’t want to take patients right now. He shouldn’t do this, but somehow the realization that the mage hadn’t been playing coy and hard to get for all these years without reason had changed something for him. Something vital. The mage hadn’t been a player and a tease (well, the latter was probably still true, but…), he had actually meant every word he said. He hadn’t wanted Hawke involved in this, had tried to keep away for as long as he could, until finally he needed the rogue’s help so much that he had no choice. Anders had been trying to keep him safe. From this. From him.  
  
Too bad for the healer that Hawke didn’t do safe. Never had.  
  
So with a deep breath he pushed the door open, finding Anders crouched down on the floor, his back to him. Blasted coat kept him from having a good view of the mage’s ass, but at least there was no flinching or startling. The healer seemed to have calmed down considerably since their last meeting.  
  
"What are you doing?" Hawke asked, walking up to peek over the shoulder of the hunched mage.   
  
"Putting out milk," Anders replied, voice lighter than Hawke had heard it in months. The mage rose, turning to face Hawke. Was that a smile on his lips? "I miss having a cat around. But I think the refugees have scared them all off," now his eyebrows shot up in the familiar look of worry. "Or maybe eaten them."  
  
"I think the preferred Darktown cuisine is rat," Hawke grinned. The mage’s moods fluctuated wildly, and right now depression seemed to have given way to enthusiasm. But there was still something so cautious about the way the healer spoke, as if he kept expecting things to break into painful shards at any moment. Words spoken by someone so used to hurting he couldn’t quite believed that it had stopped.  
  
"You know," Anders started, pacing a little. "I’ve been meaning to thank you. It’s just that other things keep coming up. Like bandits. Or spiders. Or Isabela." There was the faintest of grimaces there before he got back on track. "You don’t need to stick your neck out for the mages here but you have." He stopped in front of the rogue, speaking with the utmost sincerity. "One day we will make a world where your sister can be free again."  
  
Hawke swallowed hard, when the mage was this close, this intense, he really did feel a bit weak in the knees. Passion was infectious, and Anders was by far the most passionate man he had ever met. He believed in things that Isabela would laugh off as foolish idealism, and which Varric would term glorified suicide, and yet Hawke found it impossible not to be affected. Going up against the Chantry and the Templars was insane, and fighting to free all mages was… well, something more insane than insane. He’d have to ask Varric if there was a word for that. And then he realized that Anders had said ‘we’. Maker preserve him.   
  
"Well, you know me, I always had a thing for scrappy underdogs," Hawke teased in return, it was so easy to fall into his usual flirting banter, even if it had never got him anywhere before. He should try to be serious. Should tell the other man how he felt. It was just that every time he opened his mouth, something snarky came out. Sometimes he wanted to kick himself.  
  
"I’ve tried to hold back," the healer continued, not deflected by the comment. He was serious now, more serious than Hawke had ever seen him before. "You were there. You saw what I almost did to that girl."   
  
Hawke had seen that. He really had. He wouldn’t lie, he didn’t understand it, and he was more than a little freaked out by it. But the look on Anders face made him hold his tongue, just giving the mage the smallest of nods. He hoped it was an understanding one, and didn’t reveal what really went through his mind. Which was pretty much that he couldn’t remember wanting to tear off the other man’s pants more.   
  
"You have seen what I am now," Anders continued, stepping closer, voice dropping as if he had read Hawke’s mind. "But I’m still a man. You can’t tease me like this and expect me to resist forever."  
  
"Sooo, how long will it take before I drive you mad?" the rogue asked jokingly, on the verge of pointing out that three years was a pretty impressive amount of time to keep deflecting his advances. But he never got the chance.  
  
Bridging the gap between them with a quick step, Anders grabbed hold of Hawke, pulling him in for a deep kiss. For a brief moment, the rogue had no idea what to do with his flailing hands, his protests turning into moans, muffled by Anders’ possessive kiss. The mage had grabbed his head with both hands, rough yet gentle. No chance of escape, so Hawke dove straight into it, wrapping his arms around the healer, burying his fingers into the familiar feathers. Maker’s breath, he had no idea the mage could kiss like this, he’d always thought that he’d have to be the one to take charge to get anything done. Turns out he was dead wrong. He was dealing with years of pent up frustration here, and having it explode in his face was all the more satisfactory. His hands slid lower, went for a grope, inflamed enough to just dump the mage on one of his cots and have his way with him right then and there. But of course Anders still had to be the tease, and broke the kiss and stepped away, leaving them both breathless and wanting.  
  
"If we could die tomorrow," the mage said, straightening his coat with a flush. "I wouldn’t want it to be without doing that."  
  
"Is that all you had in mind?" Hawke asked, because he suddenly had a list of things a mile long that he wanted to do before he died, just with the mage. Most of them without clothes.  
  
Anders laughed, but it was a soft, almost sad sound. “With Justice, I thought that part of me was over.” He turned serious once more, giving Hawke one of his all too familiar warnings. “If you’re with me we’ll be hunted. Hated. The whole world will be against us. If your door is open tonight, I will come to you. If not, I’ll know you took my warning at last.” From the look on his face the mage didn’t want Hawke to take his advice, and yet was terrified that he would.  
  
"I take it that’s my cue to leave," Hawke said, wishing his pants weren’t this tight.  
  
"I have patients coming," the mage nodded.   
  
"I see," the rogue said, turning to leave. "Tonight then?"  
  
"Think about what you’re doing," the mage cautioned as Hawke exited the clinic.  
  
Oh how little Anders knew him. Since when had he ever thought things through?  
  
  
…  
  
  
This was ridiculous. And Hawke usually dealt with things that were ridiculous by taking a trip down to the Hanged Man and get drunk. Or possibly fight someone. Something. He hated being nervous, he hated waiting for things, and Maker’s breath, when was Anders going to show up anyway? Had he decided to back out? The man was nothing if not fickle at times, or had something happened? An emergency at the clinic? Templars? The thought made his hand go for his dagger, but of course it was not there. He was at home. In his house. In Hightown.   
  
It still didn’t feel like his house, this was his mother’s estate. Sometimes he felt like Fenris, just squatting somewhere, except with less cobwebs and better food. It had been three years, but it still did not feel comfortable. He was not a Hightowner, he was not a nobleman, despite what his mother said, and he was most certainly not an Amell. He was a Hawke, the son of a mercenary apostate mage, who had grown up on a farm in Ferelden and made a name for himself in Lowtown. The way his mother kept inviting him to Hightown dinners and tried to set him up with suitable daughters of important names just made his palms itch for a good blade and a brawl.  
  
But this was Leandra’s dream, and he wouldn’t ruin it. He’d settle for his small rebellions, like the Hanged Man and his friends and… well, he supposed, Anders.  
  
Maker where was he? Had Bodahn locked the door after all? He’d made sure the dwarf would leave it unlocked, though he hadn’t told him the reason. In case nothing happened. Hawke rubbed his lips a little, the memory of that kiss still felt unreal. Anders was nothing like Isabela, where everything had been simple with her, it was so very complicated with him. He couldn’t just jump his bones, could he? Were there rules about these things? When you were serious? He’d never been serious before in his entire life, and now he rather regretted that. He could have used the practice.  
  
Nervousness got the better of him, and he stalked down to check if the door was unlocked. It was. The street outside was dark and cold, no sign of anybody but a solitary city guard, walking his route. He closed it gently, walking back through the overly large foyer. The scale here still dwarfed him, they could have put their entire farmstead into one room, and here it was just used to impress visitors. Hawke supposed it worked, it certainly worked on him. But what would Anders think? He still felt like an ass for living up here, while the mage was stuck amongst the rats and lice in Darktown. He never even visited much, like the others did, and when he did there was always this faint… Hawke didn’t even know. He was probably imagining things. Getting paranoid.  
  
Since when did he care if anybody approved of his choices? Maker he really was falling hard this time, he’d end up getting crushed if he wasn’t careful.  
  
He walked back up the stairs, to his side of the house. His room. Or rooms. He had one end of the house, his mother had the other, and blast it but he was glad that she was an early sleeper. How late was it anyway? He hunched down and put another log in the fireplace. The room was hot enough already, but he needed something to do with his hands. The fire crackled, but there was a feeling of… something behind him, and he rose and turned in one swift motion, going for his daggers. Which weren’t there. Of course.  
  
"Andraste’s ass, Hawke," Anders said, hands raised, one of them glowing faintly in case Hawke would have actually thrown a punch or something. They were both far too used to violence and sudden attacks. "I knew I should have knocked." The mage looked even more tired and scruffy than before. It had obviously been a long day.  
  
"You’re here," Hawke sighed in relief, trying to look like he hadn’t spent the last hours being worried out of his skull. "I wasn’t sure you would come." Maybe not the smartest thing in the world to admit, but it just slipped out. Lots of things just slipped out around Anders.  
  
"Justice does not approve of my obsession with you" the mage admitted, looking a bit sheepish as he scratched his neck. "He believes you’re a distraction." It took a moment for him to overcome whatever inner tension he was feeling, but in the end he won out, stepping forwards towards Hawke. "It is one of the few things on which he and I disagree."  
  
"If you hadn’t come," Hawke confessed, "I would be out looking for you."  
  
"When I was in the circle, love was only a game." Anders had gone all intense again, closing the distance to Hawke where he stood in front of the fireplace. "It gave the Templars too much power if there was something you couldn’t stand to lose." He swallowed hard before admitting. "It would kill me to lose you." The mage reached out, gently touching Hawke’s face as if he was afraid that he would somehow break it on accident.  
  
"You aren’t going to lose me," Hawke protested. He wasn’t used to feeling fragile, but there was something in the way the healer touched him that made him wonder if he hadn’t been standing all those hours just waiting outside. Waiting for courage.   
  
"No mage I know have ever dared to fall in love," Anders smiled, reaching out to pull Hawke close. "This is the rule I will most cherish breaking." The kiss was less filled with desperation this time, and more with a quiet wonder that this was really happening. There was nothing to interrupt them here; for once they actually had time. Time and privacy.  
  
"You do love breaking rules, don’t you?" Hawke mumbled the words softly into the Mage’s ear as he pulled him towards the bed. His heart was beating hard enough to hurt.  
  
"I’ve been told that," Anders replied, the smile filled with wonder and desire in equal measures.  
  
The last, Hawke thought to himself as he pulled down the mage on top of him, could really be said for both of them.


	2. 2

Hawke had never realized how many straps and buckles actually went into holding Anders’ coat together until he actually tried to take it off. Every buckle undone revealed a new strap underneath, until he feared he might tangle everything together, leaving them both trapped until Bodahn came to check on them. Funny. Even now, his brain made those attempts, even if the fact that the mage kept kissing him meant he had to keep them to himself. Luckily. Sometimes he feared the things that came out of his mouth.  
  
And he didn’t want to ruin this.   
  
"I take it you gave up the chance of ever having sex again, ever," Hawke said, fumbling with the clasps.  
  
"The thought crossed my mind, yes," Anders admitted rather breathlessly as he shrugged out of the coat, dropping it beside the bed. "And then you came along and ruined my misguided attempts at celibacy. For three years I’ve lain awake every night, aching for you. I’m still terrified I’ll wake up."  
  
"I didn’t think I was the stuff that dreams were made of," Hawke teased, sucking in a short breath because Anders was sitting on top of him now, looking down. The mage was heavier than Isabela, though he seemed to be all angles and bones under the coat. Probably didn’t eat as well as he should, long hours and little money didn’t make for well-fed mage. A mage that was sitting right on Hawke’s erection. Maker he hoped he wasn’t blushing, because seriously, he did not blush. That was the bane of redheads everywhere, and he had worked hard to stop any hints of embarrassment from showing. Usually by making an utter fool of himself on purpose.   
  
"Am I squishing you?" Anders asked with that infuriating wiggle of his eyebrows as he pulled off the tattered scarf that kept out the Darktown dampness. He smelled clean, Hawke realized, which usually wasn’t the case. Not that he had been smelling the mage. Not at all.  
  
"Where in the Maker’s name did you manage to find a bath in Darktown at this hour?" he asked, not replying to the teasing question because Anders had to be aware of the reaction his weight was getting from Hawke. Especially with the way he kept rubbing up against him.   
  
"I am capable of taking the stairs to Lowtown you know," Anders said. "Cold as the blight of course, and I wouldn’t ask who was in there before me, but that soap kills everything. I think my balls are still tingling."  
  
That did it, Hawke blushed just because he couldn’t help himself. The thought of Anders’ balls came unbidden to his mind, wondering whether the hair was as blonde down there, or…   
  
"You do that on purpose."  
  
"Do what?" Anders asked, lazily stripping off his undershirt.   
  
"Teasing me."   
  
Yes, the mage was definitely teasing now, doing it slowly enough that Hawke got the urge to just reach up and tear away the offending garment. But he wasn’t sure that this fragile moment of peace could survive bit of teasing violence. Was the mage soft? Romantic? Fierce? Brutal? He had no idea, though he would most likely find that out tonight. He hadn’t been with enough men that the thought wasn’t at least a bit daunting to him.  
  
"I have to take some form of revenge for all you put me through," Anders said, leaning down so his hair brushed against Hawke’s face. "You haven’t done this before, have you?"  
  
"I sure have!"   
  
"Of course," Anders teased, hiding his smile by nuzzling his way down Hawke’s neck. The rogue’s relaxed coat slid open easily as it was only held together by a soft cloth belt. The mage seemed fascinating by the expanse of pale skin that was revealed, the redhead’s arms might be somewhat tanned, his stomach… not so much.   
  
"Maker’s breath," Hawke said, hands sliding down to wrap themselves in Anders’ hair, guiding him lower. The small bites sent shivers through his spine, and a surprised moan as the mage bit down on the lining of his pants, pulling them down with teeth and hands. His cock slid free, nearly hitting Anders in the face.  
  
There was a moment’s pause when they both struggled not to start laughing.  
  
"Someone’s eager," the mage remarked dryly once he had collected himself, wrapping a hand around Hawke’s shaft, giving him no opportunity to escape. "Very eager in fact."  
  
"Your fault," Hawke said weakly. Anders had his hand around his cock. Somehow that thought didn’t quite register right away. It was like that time when the dragon had swooped down, you knew what you were looking at, but your brain wouldn’t register it properly. It just went bwuh…  
  
"Mmm, I suppose it is," Anders said, slowly moving his hand to the rhythm of Hawke’s breathing. "But if I am already to blame, I might as well make the most of it."   
  
"Please do," Hawke managed to choke out before Anders wrapped his lips around him. Maker that mouth was soft and surprisingly warm despite that the rogue felt like he was on fire already. Kissing the mage had been very different from kissing Isabela, all stubble and hunger, but this? Very similar in fact. Not at all what he would have expected. He had thought the mage and the pirate’s banter had been mostly nugshit and empty words, but now he was beginning to think that maybe they really had met at a brothel.  
  
And then he stopped thinking at all.  
  
Things melted together in soft blurs of contact, slick lips, teasing tongue, teeth that sometimes provided that little extra scrape of discomfort to add spice. His hands kept touching Anders’ head, brushing back the blonde hair that kept getting in his face as he worked. Maker, he shouldn’t keep looking, he should just close his eyes and concentrate on not coming, but this was a fight that he was losing fast. Anders was just… no, it wasn’t just that he was good at what he was doing, it was the fact that it was Anders. How many times had Hawke been thinking about things like this? Gaze lingering on the mage’s lips, idle daydreams broke off by yet another ambush, violence and blood. Nothing to distract him now, and Anders did seem intent on finishing him off.  
  
Not like Hawke had a choice in the matter, he came hard in the mage’s mouth, violently enough to almost be painful. A few careful, almost gentle sucks later, and Anders leaned back with a smile on his face.  
  
"Hope I did not break anything," the mage said once he had swallowed, resting on his elbow, a spectator to the rather sensual spectacle of watching the rogue trying to regain his breath.  
  
"You’re a healer," Hawke mumbled. "If you did, you can fix it." He should move, but Maker, his heart had beat hard enough that he almost had thought it would burst.  
  
"Not all things are possible to heal, you know." Anders crawled up next to Hawke, kissing the rogue gently, almost sadly.  
  
"Part of me just keeps expecting you to sashay out the door and collect your bet from Isabela," Hawke said, licking his lips a little. It was disconcerting being able to taste himself. Most of his liaisons had never lasted to the point of afterglow cuddles.  
  
"Still have no money left over to bet, even though the temptation to sashay is almost irresistible," the mage confessed with an innocent look as he leaned in to lick up some of the droplets of sweat that had formed on Hawke’s forehead. "I spent the last coppers on that bath."  
  
"Do your balls still tingle?" Hawke teased, a bit more relaxed now. It was hard to be anything else at the moment.  
  
"They do," the mage started thoughtfully. "But for entirely different reasons."  
  
"Maybe I can help with that."  
  
"Maybe. If you are used to handling that sort of equipment."  
  
"Maker’s breath," Hawke said with a groan, "I am not some blushing virgin, I have handled cocks before."  
  
"We all have," Anders said, eyes never leaving Hawke’s. "Otherwise we would have to piss sitting down. And you do blush."  
  
"And you have bad eyesight, mage."  
  
"Oooh is that a Fenris impression?" the mage cooed, getting off the bed so he could get his pants off. Leather. Straps. It seemed he didn’t quite trust Hawke to mange those right now.  
  
"Only if Fenris is desperate to get in your pants."  
  
"That would be a true horror story," Anders said with a laugh, kicking his pants to the side. "With you I am fairly confident it would not be to bite my cock off. Fairly."  
  
"You are lucky I feel far too good to toss something at you for that," Hawke said, baring his teeth in a mock-growl. "Come here."  
  
Anders obeyed, but not immediately. He seemed to like the way Hawke kept looking at him, and the rogue had to admit he was not half bad to rest his eyes on. The mage had always given the impression of someone that was rather vain but broke, everything from his carefully cultivated eclectic style of dressing, to the small pockmarks where earrings once had been spoke of someone that took good care of his appearance. Of course that was all before he took up living in Darktown, spending most the money he came across on supplies for his clinic. These days, proper baths were extravagant. Hawke promised himself to do something about that. Well, after he was done with this.  
  
Maker what had he got himself into now?  
  
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed so he could sit up, Hawke reached out to run his hands over Anders’ hips. Lean. Sharp. The hair down there was darker, shifting more into the deep auburns that the hair on the mage’s head showed hints of. So what now? No blushing. He had sucked cock before, never mind that it had been years ago in a Ferelden barn, and that it had ended with them both running for their lives from a very angry farmer. The affairs he had when working for Athenril had all been strictly with him in charge, you did not build a fierce reputation by going down on people. Men or women. He’d never really cared about anybody enough to drop his mask before. It was a surprisingly hard habit to break.  
  
Anders broke it for him, pushing teasingly against his lips until Hawke relented and took him in his mouth. Salty. Slightly bitter, with a faint, almost metallic aftertaste. He couldn’t say he liked it, but what he did like was how the mage stiffened in his mouth, a shiver passing through his whole body. That he didn’t like, he loved. It was a sense of power he had not been prepared for, to be able to make the mage quiver and whimper depending on what he did with his mouth. He wasn’t an expert, obviously, but he’d spent enough time with Isabela to know how things should feel on the receiving end. And, judging from Anders’ moans he wasn’t doing too badly.  
  
"Wait," The mage said, sounding half choked from pleasure as he pushed Hawke’s head back. "I am too close. Not like this."  
  
"Then what?" Hawke asked, wiping saliva off his chin and lips. It was surprisingly messy work he’d come to realize. And not at all as easy as Isabela made it seem. He’d almost choked more than once.  
  
"I want to be inside you," Anders said, falling to his knees in front of Hawke so he could kiss him properly, giving the rogue a chance to reflect on his request.  
  
Maker preserve him, Hawke thought to himself as he wrapped his arms around Anders as they kissed. He hadn’t really considered… well, he had considered but then it had been fantasies, something to keep him company in bed at night. Not reality. Reality was rather frightening and close and poked him in the stomach, and Maker he just had the mage in his mouth, he knew the size. Far bigger than a finger, and thank you for that by the way Isabela. That bet had lost him two silvers. Who knew it could feel that good? He hadn’t. But he felt himself stiffen as he considered it. Anders had turned out to be a lot more of a handful in bed than he had given him credit for; he just had given an impression of being a soft-hearted romantic. There were more pages to the mage than the cover suggested.  
  
"Fine," Hawke said once the kiss broke, before he could regret it. "Just…"  
  
"Be careful?" the mage supplied. "You haven’t done this before?"  
  
"Why do you figure that?" Hawke asked, because he had to know.  
  
"Because you haven’t joked about it yet. And you joke about everything."  
  
"Does that mean I need to make up jokes about being… well fucked, once you’ve had your way with me? I don’t think my dignity would survive that, and Merrill might just explode should she overhear."  
  
"There is no dignity in the bedroom," Anders said with a laugh. "Really, that just makes things boring. Sex is all about losing control, not keeping it. And I always felt that being shagged up the arse is an essential experience for any man."  
  
"One you’ve had?"  
  
"Yes, repeatedly."  
  
"And you’ve enjoyed it?"  
  
"Well," the mage said, looking thoughtful. "At first there is some pain and discomfort, but it is so very worth it."  
  
"Getting my tattoo was painful. Walking five miles with feet chafed raw from crappy boots was uncomfortable. I don’t even want to get started on what it felt like fighting those stone critters in the deep roads with only a pair of daggers. I think I can handle it."  
  
"Good," Anders said, with as close to a purr as the rogue had ever heard from any human. "Then roll over."  
  
Without being fully aware of how it happened, Hawke found himself on his knees on the floor, bent over the ample bed. Anders was behind him, kissing his way down his back. He was hard again, the rogue realized, but not desperate like before. Just enough to want to rub up against the bed, but he was not sure if he needed to squirm and encourage the mage further. He’d never admit it, but as much as this sent a thrill down his spine, it also made his balls contract nervously. Still, at least this way he could just bury his face in the sheets and not bother to censor what he felt.  
  
And Maker, what a feeling. Anders had not stopped his kisses once they reached the small of his back, he had simply paused. Soft hands ran over the sensitive insides of his thighs, nearly making the rogue squeal before he succumbed to their pressure and spread his legs. Open. Undefended. It was probably worse because he couldn’t see it happening, he hated having people at his back, unseen, impossible to prepare for. Of course that also gave this an added thrill, like sliding a thumb over a very sharp blade feeling the skin part just a hint. Danger. Danger and… tongue, and what in the name of the blight was Anders doing?  
  
Hawke choked back a groan, resisting the urge to turn around. The mage had spread him open with his hands, and his tongue had wandered far enough down lick places that definitely no man had licked before. Or woman for that matter. It felt… oh Maker he wasn’t sure what it felt like. Good? Frightening? Wrong? All of the above? But mostly it felt slick and warm and very, very intrusive since the mage kept poking the tip of his tongue in…  
  
"You…" Hawke managed to choke out, inadvertently making the mage pull away long enough to ask:  
  
"What?"  
  
"Don’t stop," the rogue said quickly, because now that Anders had pulled away, his breath made his wet, exposed skin pucker together. If he had felt exposed before, it was nothing compared to what he was feeling now.  
  
"That begging seems to be lacking a please at the end," Anders said, back to being the eternal tease. His tongue flicked out briefly, enough to make Hawke stifle a moan in the mattress.   
  
"Don’t stop… please. Was that good enough for you?" Words mumbled, a sugary plea melting into a halfway challenge.  
  
"Good enough for now," the mage replied, brushing a wet finger over that particularly sensitive spot of puckered flesh, pushing inside. The digit slid in surprisingly easy. "I’m not going to stop with just a finger you know…"   
  
"Maker preserve me, I know," Hawke said, trying to control his breathing and the sudden (and incomprehensible) urge to push back. Anders’ finger curled a little, finding that spot that Isabela had spoke of, rubbing against it. The way she had put it, men had one of those while women did not, which mean that regardless whether they liked it or not, men were designed by the Maker to be fucked up the ass, as she so succinctly put it. An argument she was going to use on Sebastian later.   
  
"At least you are not clamping up," Anders remarked with something akin to humor. "One might almost think you are enjoying this." The first finger was joined by a second one, and the fit was suddenly less comfortable and a lot tighter.  
  
"I… am," Hawke admitted reluctantly. "But if Varric or Isabela asks, I am still denying everything."  
  
"Just do what I do," Anders said, pulling the fingers out, leaving Hawke open and breathless. "Make up stories. The wilder the better. Like this… wouldn’t it be a lot more interesting if we add a few prostitutes, some whipped cream and a few yards of rope?"  
  
"Oh rope? Is that why…" Hawke sucked in a breath and bit off the rest of the sentence as the mage pressed against his now very unguarded opening with something a lot thicker and warmer than a finger. He steeled himself for entry, but Anders just held himself there, rubbing slightly against the rogue. "Is that why you wear what you do? You like the feeling of being all trussed up? All those straps and wraps…"  
  
"Says the man that used to sleep with Isabela and all her talk about spanking." Anders caressed Hawke’s back as if he had been petting a skittish cat, finally bringing his hands down to rest on the rogue’s hips. He kept rocking back and forth, pushing a little harder each time.   
  
"Touché," Hawke said, trying not to whimper. Trapped between the bed and the mage he couldn’t slide forwards and escape, and he couldn’t push back because… well. Because his pride wouldn’t let him. "Just get it over with," he finally snapped, not caring if it sounded like he was begging for it. After all, he sort of was.  
  
"So impatient," Anders teased, but with enough of a shiver in his voice that Hawke knew he had hit a nerve. "You only get to feel this once you know…"  
  
Did the mage like this? Hawke wondered to himself as Anders pulled back long enough for him to spit in his hand and slick himself up thoroughly. Deflowering him? Maker the thought was enough to make him flush crimson, though he could hide his face in the sheets. He was no longer as inexperienced as he had been the first time he had met the mage, but it seemed that no matter what, he still had a lot of catching up to the other man. Years of adventures, demons, magic and Grey Warden business… Would he ever catch up?  
  
Did he care?  
  
Right now, Hawke decided that he didn’t. Let Anders be the one on top for now. He’d get his revenge later. He knew his friends well enough that they would assume it had been the other way around no matter what had really happened. At least he hoped so.  
  
"Ready?" the mage asked, tightening his grip on Hawke.  
  
"If I said no, would you stop?"  
  
"Only if you meant it." The pause stretched into seconds, but as no words were spoken, Anders simply leaned over the nervous rogue, slowly pushing himself inside.   
  
Hawke suppressed a pained groan, fingers balling up in the sheets. The first push had been the hardest, as soon as he opened up the rest of Anders’ not inconsiderable length followed with ease. It hurt, like the mage had warned. Stung like saltwater in open wounds, burned and chafed, and maker… it was even worse when he pulled back again.   
  
"Shhh," the mage whispered, placing a hand on the small of Hawke’s back, pushing down the bucking rogue. "It gets easier if you relax and accept it."  
  
"That’s easier said than done," Hawke complained breathlessly, but he tried to relax best as he could, pushing back against the mage. It wasn’t the pain honestly; it was the feeling of intrusion, of being opened up like this and… oh Maker. Shifting only a little suddenly made this feel a whole lot better.  
  
Funny how easily your body adapted to the oddest things. Pain washed away, drowned in the inevitable torrent of sensation. Anders curled around him, their bodies pressed together as the mage did his best to nail Hawke to the bed. No more words, neither of the men were capable of forming even the simplest sentence.   
  
It was just about bodies now. Flesh. Sweaty skin. Friction and slickness. Breaths, heated and interrupted by moans. Thrusts. Counterthrusts. Squirming hands caught and pinned. Whimpers not admitted to. An unattended cock brushing against the sheets until Hawke came, convulsing around Anders, bringing the mage over the edge as well.  
  
…  
  
Later, breaths and dignity regained and sweat slowly drying on their bodies.  
  
"I love you," Anders confessed where he lay curled up on Hawke’s shoulder, hair undone and messy. "I’ve been holding back from saying that. You should have a normal life, not be tied down to a fugitive with no future. And I don’t ever want to leave you."  
  
Hawke didn’t immediately reply, he just tightened his embrace of the mage. He wanted to say something sweetly romantic, but his brain had gone blank. Had Anders just confessed to loving him? As in actually loving him and wanting to be together with him and not just have this be an awesomely bad idea like sleeping with Isabella? Love? What the blight did you say to that?  
  
"Want a sandwich?" were the first words that slipped out of Hawke’s mouth. He could have kicked himself, but it was too late, and he was too comfortable.  
  
"You will be an inspiration to romantic poets in ages to come," Anders said dryly, pinching one of Hawke’s nipples. "So, not to bring up anything unpleasant," he continued before the rogue had any chance to apologize. "But the Templars were sniffing around my place yesterday. It is possible I might need somewhere else to go in the near future. Would here be an option?"  
  
"Are you asking to move in?" Hawke knew he probably sounded as if he didn’t believe his ears, but he did not. Over the years Anders had been adamant at not accepting handouts, sticking to his share of the jobs they did together. He had to go the long way of funneling funds through Lirene to even help the mage. He had never, ever thought that he would give up enough of his independence and move in.  
  
"Well… yes," Anders said, sounding a lot more insecure as he was not sure how to interpret Hawke’s reaction. "I thought you might appreciate not having to step over the drunkards in Darktown every time you went to see me. So what do you say?" The last words were accompanied by such a worried look that Hawke’s heart melted.  
  
Anders wasn’t sure either, he suddenly realized. For all the supposed world-weariness and experience of the renegade mage, this was as new to him as it was to Hawke. He was just as afraid to be rebuffed and made a fool of. And yet he dared to put himself out there, presenting his heart to be trampled all over if he had misjudged the rogue.  
  
"I want you right here, until the day we die," Hawke said, willing the mage to believe him.  
  
One day he would get around to admit to being in love as well. One day.  
  
Not today.


	3. 3

The sun rose slowly, peeking though half-pulled curtains. Hawke shifted in bed, wincing despite himself at the unfamiliar aches that movement brought to life. Not pain really, just a slight discomfort that left him with no illusions about what actually had happened last night. As if the man sleeping next to him would.

  
Anders. Maker’s balls but the mage looked almost innocent when he was asleep. His blonde hair was a mess and the worried wrinkle between his eyebrows had faded to a memory. Hawke considered licking that long, aquiline nose, or possibly placing a kiss on the sensitive, relaxed mouth, but it felt almost like a crime to disturb the mage. So peaceful. Also, he was drooling on the pillow. Hawke smiled a little, heart melting despite his usual cynicism about these things. It was official. He was a sap. A smitten, silly sap. There was absolutely no way he could go out there and pretend that he wasn’t in love with the mage. He supposed he’d have to settle for weeks of teasing now, he could only imagine what Varric and Isabela would make of this. And Merrill. Sometimes her innocence was twice as bad as Isabela’s lewd probings.  
  
Anders mumbled something in the pillow, but showed no signs of waking. Hawke leaned close, and after a moment’s hesitation he whispered “I love you.”   
  
The words felt funny trying on for size. He’d never really used them with anything but family before. Big words. Frightening words. Anders had told him that he loved him last night, and Hawke had believed him but not returned the sentiment. Not in words. Wanting the mage to move in, wanting him to stay at his side seemed somehow easier to admit to. Love was… not something he treated lightly. Isabela would laugh at the thought that there were some things he treated seriously, but she’d never really considered why he kept saying all the crazy shit that he did. Or maybe she knew it too well because she did it too. He was never sure exactly what went on behind her smiling mask, other than that they were far too alike to ever have anything serious together.  
  
And Anders was far too serious at times. It wasn’t that the mage wasn’t a crazy bundle of jokes and innuendoes when he felt good enough to lighten up. But he was also not shy about letting people know what he felt about things. Even if they disapproved. Especially if they disapproved if Fenris and Merrill was anything to go by. Hawke realized he would have to find a way to deal with those things now. What it meant to actually live together with someone. What he was supposed to do when Fenris was up in Anders’ face about mages. It wasn’t just trying to keep friends from ending up in a fight now, was it? He’d actually picked a side. Things would change, whether he liked it or not. He would have to change.  
  
The mage shifted slightly, bumped into Hawke, and flung an arm over him without opening his eyes. The rogue felt himself pulled into a tight embrace, Anders curling up around him like a lazy mabari. A lazy, horny mabari from the feel, and Maker his mind had better stop going there right this minute.   
  
"Morning," Hawke mumbled into Anders’ hair, as the mage made himself at home on his shoulder.  
  
"Morning yourself," the mage replied sleepily.  
  
"You were talking in your sleep before," Hawke said kissing the mage’s forehead.  
  
"I was? Not anything terribly incriminating I hope. I never remember my dreams these days."  
  
"I thought all mages were aware of them," or maybe his father wasn’t the end all authority on all things magical.  
  
"I am a bit of a special case," Anders admitted. "Justice is the one in charge there now. Not me."  
  
"Ah, I hope he’s not too sore about being dragged into our little threesome," Hawke joked, because when you were sleeping with what technically was an abomination you’d better have a sense of humor about it.  
  
"Oh please don’t call it that," Anders said with a grimace. "He really did not approve, and I’m far too comfortable to start glowing blue around the edges."  
  
"I thought he’d be pleased with you recruiting another champion for the cause of mages everywhere," Hawke joked.  
  
Anders pulled himself up on an elbow, looking at the rogue. The frown was back.  
  
"That is not why I slept with you."  
  
"I know," Hawke said so very softly. "I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but my mouth does this thing when it moves and words come out and sometimes they’re not exactly the right words for the moment."  
  
"I’ve noticed," Anders said, frown relaxing into a cautious smile. "Boneless women flopping through the streets indeed. Andraste’s ample arse I thought that Templar was going to have a heart attack."  
  
"You liked it?" Hawke said, reaching up to run a thumb along the mage’s jawline. "I might take up annoying Templars just to get a smile on your lips."  
  
"Hawke, you annoy everybody, no effort needed." Anders didn’t exactly roll his eyes, just almost.  
  
"What can I say, I am naturally talented like that," Hawke retorted, the grin growing wider.  
  
"You didn’t have to look that smug when you said it." But Anders couldn’t help but echo that smile.  
  
"I love you," Hawke said, surprising them both. "I mean, I… well, actually that’s exactly what I meant. I love you."  
  
"I love you too," Anders said softly. "You meant what you said last night then? About me moving in here?"  
  
"I did," Hawke admitted. "I hope that you’re prepared for what you’re getting into."  
  
"A bed without vermin I hope. Well, unless I count you. I’ve heard Aveline call you a rat on more than one occasion."  
  
"Maker’s breath, was that a joke? You need to get laid more often."  
  
"Not a joke, she really doesn’t approve of your continuing to work with Athenril. Honestly Hawke, you might need to watch yourself. One of these days she might decide that she’s bent the law enough to fit you in her circle of friends."  
  
"Did you miss me mentioning that you needed to get laid more often?" Hawke asked, running his thumb over Anders’ lips. "That’s your cue to say ‘how about doing something about that, handsome?’"  
  
"Should I call you handsome now?" the mage asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow.  
  
"Well, you never minded lying for a good cause, did you?"  
  
"I’m not sure I would have to lie there," Anders said, regarding the rogue thoughtfully.  
  
"Oh shut it, we both knows you’re the handsome one here. Which I don’t mind since I’m the one that has to look at you. Besides, that automatically makes you the girl in most people’s eyes."  
  
"Oh does it now?" Anders sounded far too amused by that notion.  
  
"You’ve got longer hair, and everybody knows that mages dress up in girly robes."  
  
"Circle mages," Anders protested. "I haven’t worn a robe since I left Ferelden."  
  
"Can’t fight people’s preconceptions," Hawke said with a shrug. "Better just suck it up and deal."  
  
"Or… I could tell the truth when Isabela asks, which you and me both know she will." The mage had started kissing his way down Hawke’s chest. "Admit it, you loved it last night."  
  
"I did," Hawke admitted sheepishly. "Still…"  
  
"Still what?" Anders asked, one hand busing itself with Hawke’s cock, teasing new life in the morning erection.  
  
"I know it’s stupid… but it’s this blighted house and mother’s idea that we’re all nobles now. There’s dinner parties and fancy clothes and complaining that I shouldn’t wear the armor in the house and Maker’s breath, I just feel like I’m growing soft."  
  
"Hmmm," Anders pondered, hand squeezing lightly. "No, I don’t think you’re in any danger of that."  
  
"You know what I mean you tease," Hawke said, swallowing a groan. "I’ve seen how most of Athenril’s crew look at me now, like I’m a blighted fraud. Someone just visiting from Hightown. I worked hard for what respect I got, I don’t want to lose it all just by being successful."  
  
"You are not going to turn into a Hightown fop just by living here," Anders said with a laugh. "You didn’t turn into a hopeless loser by living with your uncle after all."  
  
"True," Hawke admitted. "And don’t stop."  
  
"I wasn’t planning to. And you are not living here alone anymore." Anders leaned down, licking the head teasingly before looking up again. "You have an ally now in the fight against fancy clothes and dinner parties."  
  
"Oooh, I like the sound of that," Hawke said, though he liked the feel of what the mage was doing even more. "And I suppose I’ll just have to come up with something suitably insanely crazy that nobody ever questions what I can do ever again."  
  
"You mean like slaying that demonic creature in the Deep Roads wasn’t enough?"  
  
"That’s a story Anders, nobody saw it. Varric might as well have made it up. No, I need to do something here, something with enough witnesses that… oh Maker, that feels good."  
  
"Well, not that I want any witnesses, but I’ve got no issues with being the girl for you… occasionally. Especially if it keeps you from doing something crazy and dangerous." Anders let go, crawling up so he could kiss the rogue deeply.  
  
"But I like doing crazy things," Hawke complained once his mouth was free. "Especially dangerous ones. It makes life a little more exciting." It wasn’t hard to roll over, pinning the mage to the bed underneath him. He had to admit that he liked the feeling of having Anders squirm beneath him.  
  
"I’m not enough excitement for you?" the mage asked, looking so deliciously innocent where he lay pinned.  
  
"I don’t know," Hawke teased. "Are you?"  
  
"I guess you will just have to find out," Anders said with a sly smile that sent shivers down Hawke’s spine.  
  
That was something he was truly looking forward to finding out.


	4. 4

The Hightown mansion was festooned with flowers and garlands, colorful lanterns bathing the attending nobles in a pleasing golden glow. Like peacocks they pranced around the dance floor, one dress more outrageous than the next. Hawke wasn’t sure exactly how some of them stayed on at all; maybe the better class of Kirkwallers wasn’t as opposed to magic as the chantry would have them believe. His mother had laughed at the suggestion, and proceeded to tell him more about what went on under women’s dresses than he had ever wanted to think about. No wonder Isabela wore as little as she could possibly get away with. Of course she would have loved this party all the same, as would he, had not his mother insisted on presenting him with an endless row of giggling girls. Available giggling girls.

 "Traitor," Hawke mouthed under his breath as soon as his mother veered off to intercept another nobleman with a daughter of suitable marrying age.

 "What?" Anders asked innocently, stroking his chin, freshly shaven for the occasion. He struck a surprisingly handsome figure when he let his hair down and dressed up.

 "You were meant to discourage my mother from these things, not cheer her on!" Hawke was still glad his lover had agreed to come at all, there had been a brief but painful argument as the mage had managed to overcome his rather vocal inner protests at doing something as frivolous as this. He had been more than happy to invite Anders to live with him, what he hadn’t counted on was that he would have to deal with Justice too. Oh well, any relationship was work in progress.

 

"Maybe I just like to watch you squirm," the mage said innocently, no trace of his earlier reservations. Justice had apparently disapproved enough to leave the mage alone for the moment.

 "There are far more pleasurable ways to go about that you know." Words followed by an evaded grope.

 "I know, but I doubt they would make Leandra half as happy," Anders said, looking at Hawke’s mother where she now stood talking to an older, rather distinguished gentleman.

 "True that, but…" Hawke said thoughtfully as he watched Leandra smile and laugh. Maker, when was the last time he had seen her laugh like that? "Aren’t you jealous?"

 "I would be if I thought I had reason to. Do I?"

 "Of course not," Hawke said. "And mother knows how I feel about you; it’s just this whole blasted family line thing. Nobles can’t marry out of love, they marry to unify houses and produce heirs. And with Carver dead and Bethany in the gallows, I’m the one option left for re-establishing this branch of the Amell family. Someone should tell her that she was the one that fell in love with an apostate mercenary and ran away to become a farmwife in Ferelden."

 "I think she knows that," Anders said softly, "why else would she avoid pressing the issue? She wouldn’t want to force you into making a run for it."

 "I wouldn’t do that," Hawke admitted reluctantly. "She deserves her happiness. Maker knows there’s been enough grief in her life lately."

 "And doesn’t she look happy playing the matchmaker?" Anders asked, nodding at Leandra, who had now been pulled out for a dance despite her teasing protests. "She hasn’t looked more alive in the years I’ve known her."

 "So what you are telling me is that I should suck it up and perpetuate the illusion that I am an available bachelor so mother keeps getting invited to parties?"

 "That is exactly what I am telling you."

 "And the fact that you get to come along and enjoy the bountiful Hightown life has nothing to do with it?" Hawke teased, lips quirking in the faintest of smiles.

 "Not a thing," the healer said innocently. "I am a simple and caring man."

 "A simple and caring man with his third helping of pie," Hawke pointed out.

 "What can I say? Pie is delicious." Anders’ teasing smiled failed a little, as always happiness and despair lay too close for the man. "Even if…"

 "No ifs," Hawke interrupted before the moment was lost. "I don’t want to… oh blast it, come!" He quickly pulled the mage back, weaving through the crowd until they were safely hidden behind some painted screens.

 "What?" Anders asked, voice tight with tension, expecting an attack at any moment.

 "Seamus," Hawke said, not noticing the faint glimmer of heat around the mage’s fist since he was too busy peering out behind the screen. "I have no intention spending another evening discussing the virtues of the Qun. Again."

 "You arse," Anders said with fond exasperation, relaxing slightly. "I thought… well, no matter what I thought. Seamus is not that bad. He likes you"

 "He likes the fact that I told his father the Viscount that he was right." It wasn’t like Hawke disliked Seamus, it was just that right now he had other things on his mind than the Qun, fascinating though the Qunari might be.

 "You will never be a diplomat Hawke. But I have to admire your balls," the other thing on Hawke’s mind said, gesturing a little with his tiny fork.

 "You have. Repeatedly," Hawke said with a lewd grin. "Okay, the coast is clear."

 "I mean it," Anders said, putting a hand on Hawke’s shoulder to keep him from stepping back out in the crowd. "By my count you should have been thrown in jail, banished or assassinated at least four times since moving to Hightown."

 "The Arishok at least appreciates my candor," Hawke said, sounding wounded.

 "Don’t take diplomatic lessons from the Qunari," Anders cautioned.  

 "I don’t. I treat my mages far better for example," the rogue said, stealing the last bit of Anders’ pie, licking his fingers afterwards.

 "You do," the mage said, watching Hawke’s mouth despite himself. "It’s not often people buy clothes for me." He ran his fingers over the waistcoat he wore, looking like he wasn’t quite sure whether he liked dressing like this or loathed it.

 "I couldn’t very well drag you here in your ratty old coat, could I? Besides, mother bought them," Hawke said with a shrug, looking over the mage. Not because of the clothes, mostly because he just loved looking at him. Sometimes he did it just to remind himself that this was real.

 "Your mother bought me clothes?" Anders asked, eyebrows shooting up.

 "I told you she liked you," Hawke said, leaning in to place a light kiss at the corner of Anders’ mouth. The mage was just too kissable. When he pulled back he caught a familiar reddening to his lover’s cheeks. "Maker’s breath… are you blushing?"

 "No, it’s just hot in here," Anders said, blushing further.

 "I thought that was just me." Hawke preened a little.

 "That one was bad even coming from you," Anders said with a helpless laugh.

 "They can’t all be classics," Hawke said, shrugging. "And you’d better be prepared that now that you are a part of the Hawke household, she will keep doing these things for you. Before long you’ll wake up to find your clothes cleaned and your favorite foods on the table and you’ll have no say in the matter."

 "Andraste’s ass, I don’t need for her to do that, I…"

 "Shush," Hawke said, placing a finger over Anders’ lips. "She does this because she wants to take care of someone. The house is too empty, and she and Bodahn are in this friendly war trying to outspoil one another. She was born a noble, but she lived most her life as a mother running a farm. She gets restless, and well… it takes her mind off what she has lost. So you will kindly shut the blight up and resign to your fate of being spoiled rotten."

 "And deflect some of her concerns from you?" Anders asked, giving Hawke a knowing glance.

 "Maker, yes," the rogue said hopefully. "I need to be able to breathe again."

 "You are not nearly as much of an arse as you pretend to be," the mage said, wrapping his arms around Hawke. The kiss lasted until they had to come up for breath, the room and the party forgotten.

 "You are, without a doubt, the best kisser I have ever met," Hawke said as he slid a hand down, giving Anders’ behind a squeeze. This time the mage made no attempt to evade his hands.

 "Seneschal Bran is glaring at us again," he said instead, freeing himself reluctantly.

 It was true; the Seneschal had spotted them behind the screen, and did his best to look as disapproving as was humanly possible.

 "That man appreciates my wit even less than you," Hawke said, frowning in disapproval. He knew he could not match the Seneschal though; it was like trying to stare down a Mabari. Futile. "And doesn’t approve of the way I have been handling the Qunari either."

 "Or maybe he just doesn’t approve that the Viscount turned to you rather than him," Anders pointed out.

 "Hmm maybe," Hawke pondered. "I suppose that’s… no, I think it’s just me. He really doesn’t like me." It had been that way since the start; some people just did not understand what he was all about. Most people in fact, but Hawke liked to think that he was like an aging cheese. Most people just smelled the stink, but those brave enough to have a taste found it worth the effort.

 "Oooor," Anders added with a tiny wave at the Seneschal, "maybe he just doesn’t appreciate that the healer that treated him for crotch-rot goes to the same parties he does. That rather defeats the purpose of seeking out seedy Darktown healers in the first place."

 "You are a rather seedy character, that’s true," Hawke admitted. "And that’s not even counting the apostate part."

 "Quiet," Anders hissed under his breath. "Somebody could overhear."

 "I think half of them already know." Hawke looked around the room, where Seneschal Bran now had fled the field, leaving them alone in a crowd of nobles he couldn’t name if his life depended on it. "If there’s something I’ve learned about Hightown it’s that the nobles are very good at looking to their own self interest rather than following someone else’s agenda."

 "I have to admit that these people are useful at times," Anders said quietly. "I can charge an arm and a leg and they won’t complain. It’s a certain kind of Justice that treating a single noble case of crotch-rot enables me to save a dozen people they would never deign to look at if they stumbled in their path." Anders face had grown hard and intense again, looking at the surrounding people in their finery, with their money and their prejudice towards the mages. Judging them.

 "Including the one that probably gave him the itches in the first place," Hawke quickly joked, trying to bring back the mage from the brink of seriousness. That seemed to be his new mission in life.

 "That would be Isabela," Anders said, his shoulders relaxing slightly under Hawke’s hand.

 "Really? I never noticed anything wrong with her." Hawke felt that they had reached a point now when joking about his previous relationships should be safe enough. He hoped. Not like he could stop himself.

 "And why is that you think?" Anders asked, eyebrow raised.

 "Anders… Maker’s breath," Hawke said, realizing what the mage was getting at. He was such an idiot never to have connected the dots in the first place. "How long have you been looking out for me?"

 "Long enough," the mage admitted with an embarrassed shrug. "I cared about you long before we wound up together."

 "I am not sure whether you are a sucker for punishment, or just a sucker, but you are getting laid for that."

 "I would rather have hoped I would have gotten laid anyway."

 "Not here you wouldn’t," Hawke said, the smile growing wide and wicked. "Let’s find a suitable room to scandalize."


End file.
